


Temporary

by daringyounggrayson



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Case Fic, Court of Owls, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26841565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daringyounggrayson/pseuds/daringyounggrayson
Summary: The double homicide at Haly’s Circus is not Bruce’s first case involving a child, and while there's no overt indication that Bruce should react differently to this case, he supposes that his previous cases did not involve the witness known as Dick Grayson. On the surface, the Grayson case seems like any other gang case, but the more time Bruce spends with the boy, the more he begins to doubt his own instincts.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 66
Kudos: 197
Collections: Batfam Big Bang 2020





	1. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part one for the fic I wrote for the Batfam Big Bang 2020! Huge shoutout to my amazing betas [huilian](https://huilian.tumblr.com/), [tintinnabulation-of-the-bells](https://tintinnabulation-of-the-bells.tumblr.com/), and [yellow-warbler](https://yellow-warbler.tumblr.com/) and my incredibly talented artists [annasartverse](https://annasartverse.tumblr.com/), [noroomforcream](https://noroomforcream.tumblr.com/), and [zeribip](https://zeribip.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> And here are the beautiful pieces of art that were made for this fic: [annasartverse](https://annasartverse.tumblr.com/post/631165688351965184/my-piece-for-the-imaginative-foxs-amazing-fanfic), [noroomforcream](https://noroomforcream.tumblr.com/post/631164013577912320/so-i-had-the-pleasure-of-doing-some-pieces-for), and [zeribip](https://zeribip.tumblr.com/post/631164429578485760/this-is-my-art-piece-for-the-imaginative-fox-s)

It starts the way most of these things do: with screaming. Or, Bruce supposes, it doesn’t really start there so much as that’s when people start to pay attention.

The crowd watches in awe as two trapeze performers swing downward, but something must be wrong, because the third performer remains on the platform and starts screaming. When the performers’ bodies reach the ground, when it’s clear that the lines have snapped, the rest of the crowd joins his shock—some screaming, some gasping, others unable to make any noise at all. The youngest performer doesn’t react to the crowd at all, too engulfed in his own nightmare. When Bruce sees him scrambling down the ladder, Bruce runs toward the center ring, planning to cut him off before he can get too close to the bodies.

The ringmaster, Haly, gets to the boy before Bruce can. He holds him tightly in his arms, and while the boy doesn’t fight the hold, he doesn’t stop screaming either. It’s a scream that Bruce will never be able to forget, one that tells the world that there’s nothing anyone can do or say to bring this child comfort.

Bruce calls 911, asking for an ambulance and the police. He’s sure he’s not the only one who calls, but he needs to do something. He needs to intervene.

Unable to take any further action, Bruce resigns himself to glancing between the fallen Flying Graysons and their son, who has fallen in a different way. To an outsider, Bruce looks like any other shocked bystander, but in reality, he’s in full detective mode, filing away every mundane detail. He pays special attention to the survivor, the child, and while he can’t hear much of what the boy is saying between gasping sobs, two things rise above the noise: “It wasn’t an accident!” and “Are my parents okay?”

oOo

A family of three walks into the big top, but none of them walk out. Two are carried out on stretchers, in body bags, and the third, a young boy, is carried out of the big top by a stranger and placed in the back of a squad car.

(Bruce has heard a similar version before: A family of three walks into an alley, but none of them walk out. Two are carried out on stretchers, in body bags, and the third, a young boy, is carried out of the alley by a stranger and placed in the back of a squad car.)

oOo

Bruce has only been Batman for a year, but he’s gained enough experience to be able to look at the Grayson case and suspect gang activity on instinct. Not _know_ that there’s gang activity, he reminds himself, but _strongly_ _suspect_.

A few hours after the suspected homicide, the crowd has dispersed and the police are gone. It’s at this point that Bruce returns to the fairgrounds as Batman, ready to talk to Haly. He only had an hour to do preliminary research in the cave before leaving again, but in that time, he learned that Haly’s Circus has never had a (reported) run-in with a gang—something almost unheard of in Gotham, especially for a business that has been coming to Gotham for as long as Haly’s has. Bruce reasons that there are two probable explanations: Haly has been incredibly lucky or, perhaps more likely, he has an agreement with a local gang. Either way, something went wrong this year.

The circus is eerily quiet. Everyone is in their trailers with the lights out, leaving the place seemingly deserted and devoid of life. As Bruce walks through the rows of trailers, he can almost sense the grief pouring out of each one. There is no doubt that the Grayson family was widely and greatly loved.

Bruce picks the surprisingly difficult lock on Haly’s trailer and slips inside. He’s barely taken two steps before the lights come to life, revealing Haly, who, despite his pajamas, is aiming a bat at Bruce as if he had been waiting for an intruder.

Bruce instinctively falls into a defensive stance, but before he can voice his assurances that he’s only here to help, to ask a few questions, Haly is relaxing.

Haly lowers the bat and leans against the wall. “Oh, it’s just you,” he breathes, relief evident in his voice.

This is a reaction Bruce has never gotten before as Batman, and this relief at his presence is especially odd considering half of Gotham is still debating if The Batman even exists.

“Who were you expecting?” Bruce asks.

“No one,” Haly says all too quickly. “But as I’m sure you’ve heard, there was an, uh,” he rubs his hand across his chin, “an accident here earlier today. Everyone’s a bit on edge.”

Bruce nods. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“I don’t know whether to be honored or offended on behalf of Gotham that the legendary Batman wants to investigate a freak circus accident,” Haly says, but there’s a subtle shake to his voice that tells Bruce Haly knows this wasn’t an accident.

“Is that what the GCPD told you? That this was an accident?” Bruce presses. Haly’s still holding onto the bat, and even though Bruce knows he can take Haly out in a matter of seconds, he’d really rather not deal with a swinging bat in such a confined space. He’s already had an exhausting day.

Haly shrugs. “What else could it have been? Everyone saw what happened, even—” he takes a breath, and Bruce takes in the accompanying red nose and damp eyes. The man doesn’t cry, though, not in front of Bruce. And it’s not an act; no matter his potential involvement, what happened tonight wasn’t something Haly wanted to happen. “Even Dick, their boy.” There’s a pause as Haly collects himself. “Unless you think an eight-year-old broke the wires?”

“I don’t _think_ anything,” Bruce lies easily, coolly. “But if you’re trying to say that you gave your star act faulty equipment, or that all three professional performers failed to check the lines, then that would be an interesting explanation.”

Haly points his finger at him, sharp and fast. “No one here was responsible for this, got that? I think it’s best to just lay low for a while and let the police handle this. We’ll be moved on soon enough and we can put this behind us.”

“And the child?” Bruce asks, stepping closer to Haly with each word. “There’s a strong chance that someone tried to take out all of the Graysons tonight. I know you’re not a local, but do you really think the police will be able to protect him?”

Haly pales and curls in on himself, but he doesn’t speak.

Bruce meets Haly’s eyes and stares him down, trying to emulate one of Alfred’s powerful stares. “If the police want to say this is an accident, there’s a good chance one of them is involved or willing to cover for the people responsible. If that’s the case, you need to tell me everything you know, or Richard Grayson might not be here next week.”

Haly swallows, cracking. “You wouldn’t let them—” he stops, swallowing once. “You’ll make sure he’s safe, won’t you?”

“It’s what I do. But you have to tell me what to look for,” Bruce insists.

Haly glances at the door, then back at Bruce. “When we were setting up—this was a few days ago—these three guys came in. They were going on about protection money.”

oOo

“Commissioner.”

Gordon spins around, hand on his chest, “ _Christ_.”

Bruce resists the urge to smile and instead nods at the file Gordon’s holding. “Is that the Grayson case?”

Gordon runs a hand through his hair, nodding. “I take it you already know the basics?”

Bruce nods and takes the proffered file, flipping through it. It’s thin, only containing a few statements. One, arguably the most important one, is from the surviving Grayson, their key witness.

“My guys want to close and write it off as an accident,” Gordon explains. “The kid here, though, he has another theory.”

Bruce notes the names of the two lead detectives and grimaces—they’re not exactly known for working _with_ gangs, but when a case reeks of gang activity, these two aren’t above accepting bribes. A quick read through Richard’s statement combined with Haly’s earlier testimony confirms his suspicions: this is a gang case, and hush money is definitely on the table.

He flips through a few other papers until he finds Haly’s statement. Unsurprisingly, he told the police that there was nothing suspicious before tonight.

“You should know that the kid’s statement was most likely edited,” Gordon says, and Bruce grunts in agreement; he’s already assumed the same. “He probably knows more—probably said more—than what’s in there.”

“Do you know if he gave names?” Bruce asks, closing the file and placing it back in Gordon’s waiting hand.

Gordon sighs and scratches his head, tucking the file back in his overcoat. “I just got in an hour ago, so I wasn’t able to speak to him. I’ll try to find the tape, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s already been tampered with.”

“Hnn.” Of course it has. With their luck, it’s long gone. “I met with Haly earlier. Four days ago, the Zucco brothers paid him a visit. They wanted protection money.”

“Zucco?” Gordon repeats. “Huh. I guess Haly didn’t take him seriously, didn’t even bother to report it. Did Haly tell you anything else?”

“Nothing useful,” Bruce tells him. “He seemed on edge, though, almost like he was expecting someone to come after him. He could’ve been expecting Zucco, but if your detectives convinced him not to say anything, he might have been worried about them too.”

“What do you think?”

Bruce isn’t overly committed to either theory. If anything, his instincts tell him that he’s missing something, that Haly wasn’t telling him the whole story. “I need more time to investigate, but in the meantime, someone should watch Haly.”

“Any chance Haly was involved?” Gordon asks, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

“Unlikely,” Bruce says. He’d considered it, but after speaking with Haly, it seems like a dead end. “Since he’s keeping quiet, I’m not overly concerned about his safety, but there’s a chance he’ll contact Zucco.”

Gordon tightens his eyebrows. “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing. But he was nervous. If he thinks Zucco will target him again, I could see him agreeing to pay the protection fees.”

“Sure.” Gordon exhales a puff of smoke, thinking. “I didn’t think they’d stay open after tonight.”

“They won’t be putting on any more performances, but they’re staying in town for the funeral. And I doubt Zucco will have a problem collecting from financially insecure people.”

“No, no he will not.” Gordon sighs again, takes another drag off his cigarette.

“The boy will need protection. There’s a good chance Zucco was hoping to take out all three of the Graysons, and if they think Richard’s talking . . .” Bruce trails off.

Gordon nods and rubs his hand over his mouth. “I’m going to see what I can do about getting different detectives on the case, and I’ll be observing it closely either way. I don’t want to draw any attention to Grayson yet, though, so I’ll hold off on getting uniforms to watch him. Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me?”

Bruce shakes his head. “Do you know what they’re doing with him?”

“A social worker picked him up and took him to an emergency placement. They’re trying to get their hands on the parents’ wills, but I’m not sure if they even exist.”

“Is he safe?” Bruce asks, making a note to run a background check on the social worker and the foster family.

“As far as I know,” Gordon tells him, but it’s not a yes. “Are you going to talk to him?”

“I’ll wait until tomorrow. He’s been through enough tonight.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Gordon says, rubbing his hand over his mouth again.

Bruce doesn’t hear what Gordon says next, if anything. They’ve shared all the information they have and Bruce has had more than enough talking for one evening.

oOo

Bruce doesn’t go to work the following morning. Well, he supposes that much isn’t new; lately, he’s been “working from home” in the mornings, only coming in for afternoon meetings. But today, he didn’t even do that much. Instead, he slept fitfully until two in the afternoon, thinking about the case—the boy—during each waking moment. Cases involving children are always difficult, that much will never change.

“Ah, I see you’ve finally decided to grace the world with your presence,” Alfred greets him when Bruce enters the kitchen.

“Sorry,” Bruce murmurs. “Busy night.”

“Yes.” Alfred still doesn’t like Batman, though he’s more accepting of it as of late. “Did you sleep well?”

Alfred knows he didn’t, Bruce can tell by his tone. “Is there any coffee left?”

Alfred moves out of the way and gestures toward the coffee maker, untouched. “How is the child?”

“I haven’t spoken with him yet,” Bruce says, pouring the coffee into a mug. “I’ll do that tonight.”

“I see,” Alfred says, hands braced against the counter. “Is he nocturnal as well then?”

Bruce takes a gulp of coffee. “I’ll be downstairs.”

Alfred gives him a sad look. “This case. From what you said yesterday, it won’t be easy to close, will it?”

Bruce shakes his head. He has a suspect, but the odds are high that the police will choose to protect him instead of the child—at least without forceful intervention. That’s the way things are; it’s a truth that doesn’t get easier to acknowledge.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

Bruce nods, then takes his coffee and disappears into the cave. He intends to keep his promise and be careful, but he doesn’t know how much that means to Alfred. After all, Bruce has come to realize that the two of them have vastly different definitions of the word careful.

oOo

Bruce arrives at Richard Grayson’s foster home a little after one in the morning. The rest of the household appears to be asleep, or at least tucked away in their respective rooms with their lights off. Richard, however, is wide awake and doing handstands of all things. He makes a note to inform Alfred that the boy may be nocturnal after all.

Not wanting to scare the child, Bruce taps gently on the window. The boy lowers himself from the handstand in a fluid, graceful movement. He faces the window, and, when he sees Bruce in his Batman gear, his eyes go a little wide. The brief flash of surprise doesn’t last, and the smile that follows forces Bruce to question if the expression had been surprise at all. 

Richard walks to the window, unlocking it and sliding it open.

“I knew you were real,” Richard whispers, moving to the side to let Bruce through. “Liam said you were just an urban legend, but that’s what he said about Superman too. He’s _always_ wrong—the look he’ll have on his face when I tell him!” The smile falls from his face abruptly and his shoulders slump.

Bruce opens his mouth, unsure what he plans to say but hoping something soothing will come out nonetheless. His jaw snaps shut when a shadow appears in the corner of his vision, forcing him to turn back to the window and find its source. It’s useless; he finds nothing but darkness. 

He’d felt eyes watching him when he'd surveyed the house earlier, but Bruce hadn’t been able to find anything—anyone—then either. 

He closes the window and turns back to Richard, who is swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Are you going to find the guy who killed my parents?”

“I’m trying to, Richard,” Bruce tells him, promises him. “I was hoping you could help me. Do you think you could do that?” Bruce has been Batman long enough to be able to pick out the kids who will be able to tell him something useful, and Richard is definitely one of them.

Richard nods, saying, “I know who did it.”

Bruce crouches down to Richard’s eye level. “Who?”

“Tony Zucco,” Richard says, scowling.

“Can you tell me how you know?”

Richard nods again, hands curling into fists. “He showed up the other day with a few other guys and they were talking to Haly, the circus owner. They said they could protect him and the circus if he gave them money, but I knew they didn’t actually care about keeping any of us safe, they were just threatening us.”

“Did you hear this yourself?” Bruce asks. This was the same story Haly told him, and while he believes the man, it never hurts to have multiple, independent sources.

“Uh-huh. I was on a break and saw them come in. Haly told me to leave when they asked to talk to him, but they looked creepy so I hid and spied on them,” Richard tells him. “And it’s a good thing I did, because when Haly said he wasn’t going to pay them, they started breaking stuff so I ran and got help.”

“That was very brave of you,” Bruce says. “And smart, too.” He hates to think about what might have happened if Richard had jumped in and tried to stop them on his own. “Do you remember who came to help?”

“Two of the roustabouts, Mr. Le and Mr. Hoffman,” Richard says.

Bruce makes a note to check up on them; if Zucco’s still unsatisfied, he might go after them for further revenge.

“I saw other stuff, too,” Richard says in a small voice. He’s biting his lip now, nervous.

“What did you see?”

“Last night, before the show,” Richard starts, talking faster than before and twisting his shirt, “I saw someone I didn’t recognize messing with the trapeze rig. I tried to tell someone, honest, but no one would listen! My parents kept saying it was just one of the other workers and that I was just nervous because it was opening night. But I wasn’t! I never get nervous,” Richard explains quickly. “We checked the ropes like we do before every show, and they seemed fine. I thought everything would be okay, but I guess whatever they did needed a certain amount of time to work, or a certain amount of weight.

“I really didn’t know,” Richard insists again, desperately, tears welling up in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have let them go if I thought they’d get hurt. I didn’t know.” 

Before he can think, Bruce is pulling the child into a tight hug. Richard cries into his shoulder for a long time while Bruce whispers “it’s alright” and “this wasn’t your fault” over and over and over again until the boy calms down.

“I’m going to do everything I can to bring Zucco to justice. You have my word.”

Richard sniffs, finally pulling away only to shake his head in disagreement. He wipes his eyes, saying, “The police wouldn’t listen to me. They called me a liar.”

This has happened before, but Bruce still doesn’t know how to explain to children that the police are corrupt and don’t always care about helping people, especially when they think there might be a financial incentive waiting for them. “Did you tell them what you just told me?”

“Pretty much. But they kept saying I was exaggerating and wanted to know why I performed if I knew the ropes were going to snap, but I _didn’t_ know!”

“I know, I know.” Bruce runs his hand through Richard’s hair, shushing him before he can work himself up again. “They shouldn’t have said that to you; it wasn’t true. Sometimes the police can’t see things, and sometimes they don’t want to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Richard looks at him with these big, desperate eyes, and they force the truth right out of Bruce’s mouth. “Zucco is a gang leader, and some of the police officers cover for them.”

“Are they gang members too?” Richard asks.

Bruce shakes his head. “But some of them get paid by the gangs to cover things up.”

“Is that why you became Batman?” Richard asks. “Because all of these cops are corrupt?”

“Yes.” That’s part of it.

“But you can help me?” Richard asks.

“I’ve been able to help a lot of people who were in situations similar to yours,” Bruce tells him instead, because he’s been Batman long enough to know he can’t make promises. He’s spoken to Richard long enough to know that he doesn’t want to—can’t bear to—make a promise he might not be able to keep.

oOo

Bruce had ended their conversation by asking Richard about the Stuarts, his foster family, and whether or not he felt safe with them. Richard had assured him that he was okay, but he just shrugged when Bruce tried to press for details; the boy was clearly homesick, not that he was willing to admit that.

Before leaving through the window, Bruce had scribbled Gordon’s number on a slip of paper, telling Richard that Commissioner Gordon was one of the few members of the GCPD that could be trusted. He told Richard to call that number if he felt unsafe or if he wanted to talk to Batman again, and Richard promised he would. When prompted, he also promised to be careful.

Bruce hadn’t considered that he and Richard might have different definitions of careful until five nights later when he sees the boy running around Gotham in the middle of the night.

Bruce swoops down in front of the eight-year-old, trying to hide the rage and fear pulsing through him. Richard should be a few streets over, asleep in his bed, not roaming around the streets where someone could hurt him.

Richard doesn’t scream like any other child would, doesn’t even jump. Instead, he’s quiet and calm as he takes in The Batman. And then, of all things, he smiles.

Bruce doesn’t smile back. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Probably,” Richard agrees lightly, rocking back and forth on his heels. Something about him feels different from the last time they spoke, but Bruce can’t put his finger on it. “Uh, I promise not to tell if you don’t?”

Bruce refuses to give in to the smile that tugs at his lips. “I’ll make you a deal: let me take you home without arguing and we won’t tell the Stuarts.” Richard is a first-time offender after all.

Richard takes a step back, expression twitching into a scowl. His whole body tenses up and he curls his hands into fists. “The Stuarts’ house isn’t my home,” he says coldly. “And I don’t have to go anywhere with you.”

“No, you don’t,” Bruce agrees, blinking at the sharp change in tone and how this eight-year-old child looks like he’s willing to fight The Batman. “And I understand that that place doesn’t feel like home, but you’re safe there, and I’m sure the Stuarts will be worried when they find you missing.”

Richard scoffs. “They don’t care about me.”

“Did they hurt you?” Bruce asks, growls, on impulse. He’d done a background check; they seemed like good people. But maybe he’d missed something, maybe he’d—

“No. They’ve been nice, I guess,” Richard says, and it sounds honest. “It’s just, I don’t know—” Richard sighs, shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go back, and I don’t need them, any of them. I can take care of myself.”

Bruce notices the drawstring bag on Richard’s back for the first time. An image of Richard at the funeral two days ago flashes through his mind. He was arguing with several people—Haly, the Stuarts, and someone else he didn’t know—and they kept telling him no. He’d been upset, near tears and desperate, but he’d clammed up when Bruce walked over to ask what was wrong. Bruce didn’t need to be a detective to piece together that Richard wanted to go back to the circus with Haly, not back to his foster home with the Stuarts.

Bruce looks at the current Richard in front of him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. Those had been there two days ago too, but they’ve only grown darker. Homesickness and grief are probably making it difficult to sleep, and each time Bruce has seen the boy, he’s looked more exhausted than the last. Someone should be taking care of him, making sure he’s sleeping and helping him—sitting with him—if he can’t. Someone should be making sure he doesn’t run off in the middle of the night.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Richard tells him, pulling on the bag’s straps.

Bruce glares at Richard, and Richard glares back. Eventually, though, he wilts and pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket, handing it to Bruce.

“I was going home,” Richard says quietly, sounding more like the boy he met five nights ago. “The social worker and the foster people told me I couldn’t go back; they wouldn’t even let me call anyone from the circus. But they’re my family, and I need to get to them before they leave town in the morning.”

Bruce looks at the piece of paper: a printout of a map with directions to the fairgrounds. “I’m sorry that you’re being separated from them; it’s not fair. But we need to keep you safe, and sending you back wouldn’t be safe right now.” Not to mention that Haly would be charged with kidnapping.

“You said you would help me!” Richard screams, snatching his map back. “You promised! But instead of looking for Zucco, you’re keeping me from my family.”

Bruce kneels, grabbing Richard’s shoulders gently. “Richard, I promise I’m going to help you. This case is my top priority, and I _am_ looking for Zucco, but your safety is more important.”

“No, it’s not,” Richard protests, fighting Bruce’s hold.

“Yes, it is,” Bruce insists.

“I just want to go home.”

Everything about this situation is heartbreaking, and Bruce wants nothing more than to give in, but he can’t, there’s too much—

A dog barks close by, causing Bruce and Richard to turn their heads. Bruce’s instincts tell him to look up, but he sees nothing. Still, something deep inside him screams that they’re being watched. 

He needs to get Richard out of here.

He looks back at Richard, squeezing his arms gently to provide some semblance of comfort. “You can’t stay at the circus. I’m sorry. But if I take you there to say goodbye, will you let me take you back to the Stuarts?”

Richard nods, sniffing once. He hands the map back to Bruce.

Bruce stands and puts his hand on Richard’s back, using his free hand to press a button on his belt to call the car. It arrives and the two climb into the car in silence.

The whole drive, Bruce can’t shake the feeling that they’re being followed.

oOo

Richard keeps his end of the deal, and after a tearful goodbye with several of the circus performers, the two leave. Haly seemed nervous when the two of them showed up, and he asked why they were there several times. Richard’s reaction confirmed that this was out of character for Haly; Bruce files that observation away for later investigation.

“Thank you,” Richard says softly when they stop in front of the Stuarts’ house. “I’m still mad at you for making me come back, but I’m glad I got to see everyone one last time.”

Bruce wants to tell him that it won’t be the last time, but he doesn’t know that for sure. He doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“S’okay.” Richard rubs at his eyes. “Are you . . . are you going to tell Mr. and Mrs. Stuart I ran off?”

Bruce shakes his head.

“Good. I don’t think they’d be happy,” Richard says. “I should probably go in now, huh?”

“I’ll see to it that you are given updates on the case as things progress,” Bruce says.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Richard slides out of the car, waving at Bruce before he climbs up a tree and back into the house through the window. Bruce would wave back, but the kid wouldn’t be able to see him through the tinted windows. Instead, he drives off, pulling up the tracker he placed on Richard’s shoe to make sure he stays in the house.

He stops a few blocks over, parking the car in an alley. He walks back to the Stuarts’ house, and when he gets close, he feels those eyes on him again.

Something rustles in the distance and Bruce turns abruptly, unsurprisingly finding no one. Then he sees it: a shadow, ducking down in the distance. Bruce gets out his grapple gun and uses it to get to the nearest roof. The whisper of motion appears again, and again he runs toward it. He follows the barely-there clues that tell him the person he’s following is real, but said person stays just far enough away to remain unidentifiable.

Five minutes later, the trail is cold. He feels alone for the first time since finding Richard that night, and when he goes back to the house, the presence is still gone. In its place on the Stuarts’ roof, he finds a single, dark feather. 

oOo

Bruce’s mind isn’t quiet by default. He meditates regularly to help with the constant noise, but there are still days when his thoughts hold him captive inside his own head and he’s unable to focus on anything else. Today, like most days as of late, those thoughts are about Richard Grayson. What he’s been through, if he’s safe, and, most importantly, who the hell is stalking him.

His initial theory was Zucco—or rather, someone working for Zucco. That would make the most sense in the context of this case, but Bruce wasn’t able to find them. Not a trace. He’s seen Zucco’s work before; it’s not this clean.

Unable to stop the stalking, his next best option is damage control. That would mean ensuring that Richard is in a safe, secure environment—the opposite of his current situation. Richard’s been able to sneak out of the house on multiple occasions without his foster family noticing, and Bruce doesn’t trust the system to keep his location secure. If Zucco wanted to find him, all he would have to do is bribe the right social worker.

The thought pattern goes like this: Richard is in foster care, and while most foster families won’t be able to offer the protection that he needs, Bruce is in a position to offer that protection. The only way to do that, however, is to be involved in foster care. 

This led to the following conclusion: Bruce needs to become a foster parent. (At least temporarily.)

It’s a good idea to have a foster license in this line of work, all things considered. Even if he doesn’t end up needing it on this case—because maybe something will be easy for once and he’ll catch Zucco quickly and Richard will be adopted by a nice family far away from Gotham—he might need it in the future. Having one is just a smart move, something he should have taken care of when he started this crusade. 

However, there is one potential flaw in his plan: he doesn’t run it by Alfred first. He’s not exactly sure why he chooses to keep his plan to himself. Is he afraid that he might be talked out of it? That Alfred will disapprove? The former is a rarity, and so is the latter in the sense that Alfred’s disapproval has not kept him from making major life decisions in the past (e.g., Batman).

(Of course, he hadn’t told Alfred about Batman in the early stages either. He’d simply informed the man after the fact, when he was already too committed to be dissuaded by one of Alfred’s arguments or disapproving looks. And despite how angry and argumentative and disapproving Alfred _had_ been, it had been too late. Alfred was forced into a position where his permission and approval were not required, one where he could offer nothing but forgiveness. Perhaps by keeping this a secret, Bruce is hoping to obtain a similar result.)

Bruce considers hacking into the Child Protection and Permanency system to grant himself a license, but then he remembers that he has a well-known name and that if Bruce Wayne suddenly has a foster license, one too many people would ask questions. So, he does the legal thing and signs up for online classes.

(He doesn’t think about how it could take months to finish this process or how so much damage could be done—done to Richard—in that time.)

oOo

Bruce checks his phone, internally groaning when the time tells him he’ll have to stay at this party for at least another hour.

He moves through the crowd with practiced ease, smiling to familiar faces as he passes. He walks fast, his speed telling the people around him that he has somewhere to be. And while that’s not actually true, it does decrease the odds of someone pulling him into another painfully dull conversation. His respite won’t last forever, Bruce knows, but this will increase its length a bit.

“Bruce! Oh, I’m so glad you could make it.”

But never by enough.

Bruce turns, forcing a warm smile. “Mrs. Powers, it’s good to see you again.”

She smiles back. “Oh, we’ve known each long enough—Maria, please.”

“Maria,” Bruce corrects himself.

She gives a small nod, then turns to her friend, placing her hand over his chest briefly. “This is Martin, he works in Child Protection and Permanency. I know that area is important to you, so I’ve been hoping to introduce you two all night.”

Bruce reaches out his hand to shake Martin’s. He’s wearing a silver ring with an owl carved into it—Bruce wonders if it’s a family crest, although he doesn’t immediately recognize it. “Hi, Martin, it’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Martin says with a laugh. “And I should thank you for all the financial support you’ve offered this past year. It’s made a real difference.”

“Glad to hear that,” Bruce says.

“Oh, there’s Joseph,” Maria says. She finishes the last of her champagne in one sip and waves at Bruce and Martin. “If you’ll excuse me.”

She’s gone before Bruce can even say goodbye, but that’s something he’s grown used to at these parties.

“So,” Martin says, “Word around the office is that you’re interested in becoming a foster parent.”

Bruce knew it would only be a matter of time before his right to privacy was forgotten and ignored. Still, two weeks is impressive. He hasn’t told Alfred yet, although he knows he’ll need to do so soon. Preferably before his case worker shows up for a home study.

“Yes, I’m still in the early stages, though,” Bruce explains. “Much too early for a public announcement.”

“Of course, of course.” Martin laughs again. “I know it can normally be a long, frustrating process, but I’ll put in a good word for you and see what I can do to speed things up.”

Bruce pauses, trying to find the motive behind Martin’s offer. Martin is far from needing financial assistance from what Bruce has heard, and Bruce is already supporting programs that are run through the department. “That’s very kind of you, but I’d really rather do this without special treatment.” Bruce flashes another smile.

Martin waves him off. “Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all, especially for a friend of Maria.” Bruce wouldn’t call Maria a friend, and he knows she feels the same way about him. Until tonight, he hadn’t even known that she’d been aware of Bruce’s donations to Child Protection and Permanency. “It’s really admirable of you to help these kids. Tell me, are you planning to eventually adopt?”

“Just fostering,” Bruce says, using all of his energy to keep his tone light and free of his internal defensiveness.

Martin forces a smile, and the smile isn't the only thing; something’s off and forced about this entire conversation, his whole demeanor, even. As much as Bruce’s instincts scream at him to interrogate Martin and figure out why that is, he knows this isn’t the time or place.

“That’s fantastic, really. Although, you never know.” He claps Bruce on the shoulder. “You’d be surprised by how many people start out fostering a child and then decide to adopt them. Of course, it all depends on the child’s family situation.”

“I suppose,” Bruce agrees plainly. The odds of that happening in his case are slim to none, but it probably wouldn’t be in his best interest to announce that he’s not cut out to be anything close to a father. If it becomes necessary, though, he’s hoping he can make a sufficient temporary guardian.

“Oh no,” a sarcastic cry interrupts them, and Bruce turns to see Oliver Grant. They went to school together, and now he works for his mother’s company as a CEO. Bruce isn’t exactly impressed with what he’s done for the company, not that he’s done much of anything other than take credit. “We’re not talking business over here, are we boys? You’re going to bring the whole party down!” 

Martin laughs in a way that Bruce guesses is supposed to be casual, but it comes off as somewhat strained. “Just talking. How have you been Oliver?” 

Bruce isn’t proud of this, but Oliver proves to be the last straw on his already stretched out patience—he pretends to take a phone call.

oOo

Bruce leaves the party earlier than he’d planned, but he’ll deal with the repercussions of leaving too soon later. For now, he has a city to patrol.

Since the homicide, checking on Richard has been a regular part of his patrol. He moved from his emergency placement with the Stuart family to his permanent foster placement with the Miller family nearly three weeks ago now, and things seem to be going well. The only incident since moving had been about two weeks ago when a member of Zucco’s gang was spotted near Richard’s foster home. Luckily, Bruce had been in the area at the time and stopped them before anything could happen. He hasn’t seen anyone there since, and even the feeling that he’s being watched while visiting the home has ebbed recently.

But then, of course, there is the ongoing problem Richard has taken to waiting up for Batman.

He’s not the first child Bruce has spotted doing this—several times, Bruce has seen groups of children on rooftops or crowded around windows who will excitedly point and scream when they catch a glimpse of The Batman. He’s learned that it’s becoming a common sleepover activity. It’s not something he wants to necessarily encourage, but at least those children only want to see him from a distance and are more than satisfied with shadows.

Richard, however, is not.

Tonight, he’s not on his own rooftop and instead waiting for Bruce on the roof of a nearby gas station, eating a package of potato chips while seated in a full lotus position. When he spots Bruce, he stands and starts waving.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Bruce tells him, resisting the urge to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

Richard shrugs and holds his bag of chips toward Bruce. “Want a potato chip?”

“Why aren’t you at the Millers’?” Bruce asks, knowing now to avoid the word “home.”

“I was hungry,” Richard says, pulling his outstretched hand back and taking another chip for himself. “And I didn’t want to wake anyone up or miss you. Good thing, too; you’re early.”

Questions relating to why Richard is hungry and if the Millers have been feeding him bubble up on his tongue, but he forces them down. “Hnn.”

“Have you found Zucco yet?”

This has been the question Bruce has come to dread each night. He’s been working on the case for almost a month now, but things have been slow. He’s been able to find enough evidence to arrest one of Zucco’s colleagues, but the colleague in question has refused to name Zucco specifically. Additionally, Zucco is in hiding and someone has been sending him information, making it difficult to track him down. Zucco taking up a low-profile also means that other gangs are trying to take his territory, which means that Bruce has had a lot of long nights.

“Not yet.” This is the phrase Bruce dreads saying every night.

Richard’s face falls, but he quickly replaces it with a mask of indifference. “Maybe I could help.”

“You are.” Bruce crouches down to look Richard in the eyes, places his hands firmly on his shoulders. “By offering your testimony and keeping yourself safe so that you can give it during the hearing.”

“There won’t be a hearing if you don’t find him.” Richard doesn’t sound accusatory, but the certainty and not-quite-anger in his voice are painful enough that he might as well have been. Despite the statement, though, the boy isn’t hopeless, he just has a more practical approach to hope compared to most of his peers. Richard is realistic and ready to prepare for the worst-case scenario, but he’s also doing everything he can to increase the odds of reaching the best-case scenario.

“I will find him.” And what happened to not making promises unless Bruce is sure he can keep them?

“Let me come?” Despite his inflection, Bruce knows Richard isn’t asking a question.

“It’s not safe.” This will be the fourth time they’ve had this discussion, and each time, Richard has been more insistent than the last.

“I know,” Richard says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “That’s why I’m asking to go with you. ‘Cause it would be so dangerous out on my own.”

oOo

Bruce is twenty-four years old, he’s the goddamn _Batman_ , he should be able to say no to an eight-year-old. And yet, that night, he can’t. For one hour, Richard rides in the car next to him and acts as a pseudo-partner. Bruce tells himself it will be a one-time event, that this whole situation will be temporary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! If you're feeling up to it, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [tumblr](https://daringyounggrayson.tumblr.com/)


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two, I hope you like it!

For the first time since this whole thing started, Bruce regrets not hacking into the Child Protection and Permanency system and forging a foster license. Sure, it would have raised a few eyebrows, and yes, dealing with the repercussions would have been exhausting. But he could have handled it; he has more than enough money to bribe the right people efficiently, and when required, he can be rather charismatic. As much as he hates to use his influence in that way, it would have been for a good cause. A less than ideal mean for a more than necessary end. And at least then Richard would have been _safe_.

Batman swoops in through a window, sending pieces of glass shattering around him as he takes down one of the Zucco’s henchmen. Shouting erupts across the room, but Batman’s already taken down another member, securing him with zip ties. 

“Where’s the boy?” he growls into the man’s ear.

“B-basement,” he says, voice garbled through his split lip.

Bruce stands, quickly surveying the room for a door. Spotting one, he runs toward it, flinging the door open and triggering more shouting. He leaps down the stairs, listening as the shouts turn into screams. In another scenario, Bruce would drop a smoke bomb and work in the dark, but they have guns held tightly in their hands and Bruce doesn’t trust them to avoid their hostage. Instead, Bruce takes them down overtly, his work somewhat sloppy as he hurries to disarm and restrain all of them so he can get to Richard as quickly as possible.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks when he finally makes his way to Richard. He removes the gag gently and then moves behind the boy to cut the overly-complicated restraints.

“I think so—ahh,” he breaks off into a hiss and flexes his hand. When the rope falls, he brings his right wrist in front of himself, hiding it from Bruce’s view.

Bruce moves back to the front of the chair and kneels. “May I?” Richard nods and Bruce takes his right wrist. It’s already swollen, and Bruce is almost positive that it’s broken. Other than a small grimace, Richard remains stoic during the brief examination. “It’s likely broken. Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

Richard shakes his head. 

“Did they hit your head, give you anything?”

“No, just my wrist.”

“Do you remember who did it?” Bruce asks.

“The tall guy with the beard. I think he went back upstairs when they heard you come in,” Richard explains.

“Hnn. Can you walk?”

Richard nods, standing. He braces his right wrist with his left hand, holding it against his chest as Bruce leads him out of the house. “I got out of the ropes when they tied me up the first time,” Richard tells him, a touch of excitement—maybe pride—in his voice. “He grabbed my wrist before I could run away, though. I heard it crack when he twisted it.”

The excitement drops toward the end, but the detail of Richard’s escape attempt explains the complex restraints.

“Bastard,” Bruce says under his breath, but Richard must hear it because a ghost of a grin crosses his face. “You were very brave tonight. I—I’m glad you’re safe, Richard.”

Richard hums. “I’m just glad you showed up when you did.”

Bruce and Richard make their way to the ambulance parked across the street as the police rush into the house that’s now behind them. Gordon meets up with them, telling Richard he’d like to speak with him after he’s been treated.

Gordon glances at Bruce quickly, and before Gordon rushes off to join his officers, they share a moment of relief. Because the thing is, Zucco already tried to kill the boy once, and tonight, they had been expecting to find a dead child at worst and a dying one at best. To see that Richard escaped with only a broken wrist is cause for celebration, but it also begs the question: Why _didn’t_ Zucco have him killed immediately? And what was he planning on doing instead?

Bruce intends to stay with Richard until someone else arrives to ride with him to the hospital. However, those plans are cut short when he sees a familiar shadow leap from a nearby roof.

“Don’t go anywhere without Gordon,” Bruce tells Richard. The boy nods, and when he turns to the paramedic, she nods too.

Bruce runs toward the shadow, but he quickly realizes they’re already too far ahead.

He calls the car and does his best to follow the shadow from the street. They’re moving fast and with a new purpose, one other than avoiding Batman. For a fleeting moment, Bruce wonders if the shadow is leading him to a trap.

The shadow leads Bruce to a familiar area not too far from where Richard was being kept. He’s lost the shadow’s specific location, but he’s confident that he’s caught up with them enough to go on foot. A good decision, too: the sound of shattering glass followed by a scream leads him to a nearby garage.

“Help!” a man yells, followed by another round of breaking glass.

Bruce picks up his pace, sharply turning into the garage only to find the people he’s been looking for for weeks: Tony Zucco and the Shadow. The Shadow is wearing a dark suit with knives across their chest that glisten in the light; their mask covers their entire head, the eye region reminding Bruce of an owl. They’re approaching Zucco in a calculated manner, knife held comfortable in one hand. There are pieces of glass bottles all over the floor, bottles Zucco most likely threw at the Shadow as a form of self-defense. Out of bottles, he’s left to crouch behind a garbage can and yell for the mercy of strangers.

“Batman, help! He’s trying to kill me!”

Zucco’s words are pointless—Bruce is already on top of the Shadow by the time he’s finished saying them.

The Shadow dodges easily with a grace Bruce knows he will never be capable of. The Shadow pushes Bruce aside and aims at Zucco again, but just before they can release the throwing knife, Bruce knocks them off course. Zucco cries out when the knife makes contact with his flesh, but it doesn’t cut his chest—he’ll live.

Bruce waits for the Shadow to make a move, fully anticipating for their spar to continue. The Shadow, however, has other plans.

They turn to Zucco. “This is your only warning: Do not harm the Grayson.” And then they’re gone.

In a matter of seconds, Bruce has Zucco restrained and handcuffed to a shelf, but the Shadow is long gone by the time Bruce chases after them. There is some relief in knowing the Shadow is closer to an ally than another enemy, but Bruce knows nothing about them or what their motives are. All he knows is that they aimed to kill tonight. This Shadow may not see Batman as an enemy, but until proven otherwise, Bruce will have to consider them as a threat.

Bruce returns to the garage, relieved that Zucco is both still there and not dumb enough to remove the knife.

“The police and the paramedics will arrive shortly,” Bruce tells him. “In the meantime, you are going to answer some questions.”

Zucco sneers. “And why would I do that, huh? I’ve done nothing wrong; I’m a victim tonight.”

“Richard Grayson is the victim,” Bruce growls. “His parents are victims. You are a murderer.”

“Says who? Some circus brat?”

Bruce is in Zucco’s face faster than either of them can blink, holding him up by his collar. “Don’t test me. What did you want with Grayson?”

Zucco’s quiet. Bruce shakes him once.

“We were just going to give the kid a scare, alright? No harm done. Just trying to teach him how things work in Gotham,” Zucco says.

“Why?” Bruce presses.

“The kid’s been spreading some nasty rumors; it’s disrespectful.”

“What. Were. You. Planning.”

“Okay, okay,” Zucco says, handcuff clanking against the shelf as he struggles in Bruce’s hold. “We weren’t going to kill the kid, alright? We’re not stupid. We were just going to send him off with a few friends for a while. They would have brought him back in about a week, nothing too bad.”

Bruce has seen the people who take trips after getting in trouble with some of the local gangs, and he wouldn’t describe their experiences as “nothing too bad.”

“Names.”

After Zucco spits out a few names, Bruce moves to a nearby building to wait for the police and paramedics, not able to stand being near Zucco any longer. He’s hoping this is it; that he can tell Richard it’s over.

Just when Bruce can make out the sound of sirens, Alfred informs him of a call from his civilian phone. Bruce takes it.

“Bruce Wayne,” he says in a cheerful voice. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi Mr. Wayne, this is Ms. Briggs with Child Protection and Permanency. Congratulations: You’ve been matched with Richard Grayson.”

oOo

To say Alfred was caught off guard by Bruce’s announcement that a child would be coming to stay with them for an indefinite amount of time would have been an understatement. Still, the older man has grown used to such surprises by now and he handled it well.

“For future reference,” Alfred says, breaking the paradoxically loud silence between the two, “I would appreciate slightly more notice before we have houseguests.”

“Alfred,” Bruce breathes, a hint of pleading in his voice. Alfred has already lectured him, and while he’s sure more lectures will come tomorrow after the man has slept and regained his energy, for now they share a shaky truce. Bruce hopes it can be maintained for the rest of the evening. “I told you as soon as I knew.”

As soon as he hung up with Ms. Briggs, Bruce had gone home and explained everything to Alfred in person. He assured Alfred that he’d had every intention of obtaining the foster license legally, and only then hacking into CPP to match himself with Richard if it became necessary. He told Alfred about Martin, how he must have been responsible for the early foster license, and that matching with Richard must have been a coincidence. Although, had Alfred asked, Bruce would have admitted that after tonight’s events, he’d planned to forgo the legal route and place Richard in his care, effective immediately. Honestly, he would have preferred the latter; now he knows he’ll be receiving a phone call any day from a Mr. Martin Sinclair to cash in on the “favor.”

(Hopefully, a favor is all that will come of this.)

Alfred sniffs. “I believe you have already admitted quite the opposite. Unless you are implying that you have been unaware of your own actions for the past month?”

“I was going to tell you,” Bruce says—again—now referencing the foster license itself and not Richard’s new custody arrangement. “Until tonight, I was starting to think I wouldn’t need it. Richard seemed to be doing well.”

“So you said.”

Bruce sighs, sliding a pillow into its case. An apology readies itself on his tongue, but he’s already given enough for tonight, so he swallows it. “This will be temporary, Alfred. Just until I can find a safe family to adopt Richard.”

“Of course.”

They finish putting the room together in silence. Alfred avoids looking in Bruce’s direction, which only makes Bruce’s guilt grow more. He knows this is the right decision, even if it’s not ideal. Bruce thinks Alfred knows that too, not that it seems to be doing much to smooth things over at the moment.

“I think that’s as best as we can make it with such short notice,” Alfred announces.

“Thank you,” Bruce says. “For your help.”

Alfred looks at him for a few seconds, a soft expression on his face. “Shall we wait downstairs for the lad to arrive?”

oOo

Two hours later, Bruce is pacing in the foyer, still waiting for Richard to arrive. It’s late, so late that it’s almost early.

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon, sir,” Alfred tells him—again. “Be patient.”

Bruce grunts, but he stops his pacing and takes a seat next to Alfred, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands under his chin. The more time passes, the more anxious Bruce feels and the more he doubts himself and his capabilities. Capabilities which seem to have dwindled since receiving the phone call.

Alfred rests his hand on Bruce’s shoulder and sighs like he can hear Bruce’s thoughts. Bruce leans into the touch, patiently waiting for Alfred to speak. 

“You have a big heart, Master Bruce, you always have. It’s the trait I am most proud of,” Alfred says. “Deciding to take in Richard, while very characteristic of you, is an enormous responsibility—as I’m sure you are well aware. I believe that you can rise to the challenge and be an outstanding guardian, but for as long as the boy is with us, he will have to be your first priority. Not Gotham.”

“I know, Alfred,” Bruce murmurs.

Alfred hums. “I am willing to assist you as needed, but assisting is all I will do. The boy will be under _your_ care, not mine.”

“I know, Alfred,” Bruce murmurs again. “I . . . Thank you.”

Alfred squeezes Bruce’s shoulder once before letting him go. “Perhaps this will be good for you. Perhaps you two will be able to help each other.”

Bruce doesn’t know what to say, so they slide back into their silence. The silence is no longer loud, however; it’s comfortable, the way it should be.

Not even a minute later, headlights cut through the window. Bruce and Alfred both stand, moving toward the door. Bruce opens it and he and Alfred walk outside, watching from the porch as the car comes to a stop. Ms. Briggs gets out first and moves around to the back, opening the door. Richard steps out of the car, head tilted back and eyes glued to Wayne Manor, taking in its size. Bruce’s eyes, in turn, are glued to the blue cast on the boy’s wrist.

“Ms. Briggs, Richard,” Bruce greets with a warm smile, leaving Alfred on the porch as he approaches the car.

“Hello Mr. Wayne,” Ms. Briggs says, holding out her hand. Bruce takes it, and they shake twice before releasing.

She places a hand on Richard’s shoulder briefly, encouraging him to offer a quiet, “Hello Mr. Wayne.”

“You can call me Bruce if you want,” he says, to which Richard only nods.

“My apologies again for this happening so late,” Ms. Briggs says, “but as I explained on the phone, we have quite a special case here. I have some papers for you to sign.”

Bruce gestures toward the house. “Please, come inside. We can take care of everything there.”

“Perfect. Richard, do you want to grab your stuff from the trunk?” Ms. Briggs asks, pressing a button on her key fob as Richard nods and walks toward the back of the car.

“Here, let me,” Bruce says, following Richard. “I don’t want you to make your wrist worse.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Richard says in a barely audible voice.

Bruce smiles again, a smile Richard doesn’t return. It feels out of character, but the behavior isn’t unexpected; Richard has had what is probably the second-worst night of his life and he’s once again surrounded by strangers.

Upon opening the trunk, a wave of anger runs through Bruce when, instead of luggage or a backpack, he finds a garbage bag.

Bruce looks toward the social worker, who has moved to the porch and is speaking with Alfred. Bruce looks back to the trunk and picks up the bag, closing the trunk before he can give it another thought. “How are you feeling, Richard? I know tonight has been more than difficult.”

“I’m okay,” Richard tells him, still using that quiet, reserved voice.

Bruce hums, leading the two of them into the house. “You’ll feel better after some sleep.”

Richard continues his odd silence for the rest of the meeting. Bruce hands the garbage bag full of Richard’s clothing to Alfred, who takes it up to the room they had prepared. Bruce signs the papers and says goodbye to the social worker in record time, thanking her for everything she had done that evening as she leaves the house.

He turns back to Richard, taking in his empty expression, the bags under his eyes, and the blue cast on his right hand. He thinks of Richard sitting without his parents in a hospital emergency room, how he had been forced to go to his old foster home and pack up his belongings in a garbage bag. This would mark the third time he had been forced to move in with strangers, the third time he had been forced to shove his belongings into a _garbage bag_.

Bruce kneels in front of Richard, looking him in the eye to try to gain his attention. “Richard?”

Richard blinks, moving his eyes to look at Bruce. “Sorry.”

Bruce shakes his head, dismissing the need for an apology. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Richard tells him softly, voice hollow. 

“Hn." Bruce thinks, trying to decide if he should push or let it be for now. He looks at Richard—his drawn face and closed posture—and goes with the latter. "Are you hungry?”

Richard shakes his head. “I had some crackers and juice at the hospital.”

“That doesn’t sound like very much to eat,” Bruce says. “How about we go into the kitchen and see if anything sounds good to you?"

“Can . . . can I just go to bed? I’m really tired.”

"Okay." Bruce stands, nodding in resigned agreement. “If you’re sure.”

Bruce takes Richard upstairs, pointing out his own bedroom before going into Richard’s. 

“If you need anything, I’ll be right down there,” Bruce tells him. “You can wake me up for anything, even if you don’t think it qualifies as an emergency.”

“Okay.”

Bruce swallows, then takes them back to Richard’s room. He shows him the ensuite bathroom, pointing out where the extra toiletries are kept as well as the shower covers for his cast. He also shows him how to work the shower, just in case he wants to take one before coming downstairs in the morning.

“Do you need help putting your clothes away?” Bruce asks, not allowing his eyes to linger on the garbage bag Alfred placed near the dresser. 

“No, I can do it.” 

The _I can take care of myself_ echoes in Bruce’s head; Richard had used the phrase directly during one of their early meetings, but now he only implies it.

“If you change your mind,” Bruce says, and Richard nods in understanding. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” Bruce moves to the door, pausing in the doorway and turning to face Richard once more. “Goodnight Richard, I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Goodnight Bruce.”

Bruce hesitates for a moment, then closes the door with a soft click and goes to his room. Once there, he paces, waiting for something to happen. Nothing does.

He pulls out his phone, checking his news alerts to find that Zucco, predictably, hadn’t been taken to the hospital by the police. He had fled the scene, and while there had been a chase, the officers lost him. Bruce groans, running a hand through his hair. With how long it took the social worker to arrive with Richard, Bruce could have stayed to escort Zucco personally. Maybe then—

No. Going to the manor and waiting for Richard had been the right decision. Even if Bruce had stayed with Zucco, that was no guarantee that he wouldn’t have bribed someone to let him go, and with the kidnapping earlier, the station would have been too hectic for Gordon to do much. But Zucco is getting anxious, reckless even; he’ll be easy to find again.

Still, Bruce doesn’t get much sleep that night.

oOo

The first week with Richard is stressful. Bruce doesn’t go into work that entire week, which he’s sure he’ll regret when he’s eventually forced to return and finds a nightmare waiting for him. He spends most of his time trying to find Zucco, either from the cave or in the streets, meaning he hasn’t spent much quality time with Richard. Richard doesn’t seem to mind, preferring to spend most of his time alone even when Bruce is available. Bruce isn’t sure if this is the right thing to do, but he allows it. The boy is adjusting, after all, and Bruce doesn’t want to push him too soon. (Not that he’d know what to say even if he did want to push.)

From what little he’s seen of Richard, he’s learned a few things: the boy is still grieving, badly, and that grief is mixing with trauma. Bruce has awoken to screaming from night terrors on three separate nights in the past week, and he’s sure there have also been plenty of nightmares that Richard hasn’t shared with them. Richard doesn’t seem to get much sleep as a result, and Bruce has found him passed out in random parts of the manor twice.

What Bruce hasn’t learned, he already knew: Richard is very bright and observant. He’s managed to maintain his athletic abilities, and Alfred has told him that the boy wakes up early to exercise each morning. Bruce has asked Richard about his exercises, both out of curiosity and to ensure he wasn’t hurting his wrist. From the sound of it, Richard would enjoy the equipment Bruce keeps downstairs. That’s not possible, of course, so he invites Richard to use the house’s gym and Bruce makes a note to himself to buy some gymnastics equipment.

By the end of the week, Richard seems more comfortable, but he’s still quiet and reserved for the most part. There are glimpses, however, of the enthusiastic boy who would wait up at night to talk with Batman, and also glimpses of a happy boy from an earlier time.

It’s around this point that Richard starts sneaking out again. Bruce has been expecting it, and the alarm system informs him that Richard has departed before Alfred does. Bruce had already left for patrol, but he quickly circles back and is able to meet up with Richard before he’s technically even off the property.

“Now _that’s_ impressive,” Richard says when Batman jumps out of the car and lands in front of him. “How do you keep finding me anyway? Did you put a tracker on me or something?”

“No.” Well, not tonight.

“Are you one of those computer hackers?”

“When it’s necessary.”

“That’s so cool! Could you teach me?” Richard asks, rising up on his toes ever so slightly.

“Hn.”

“I’m going to take that as a maybe,” Richard says, grinning.

“What are you doing out here?” Bruce asks.

Richard shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

They’re in the woods surrounding the manor. When Bruce was Richard’s age, he had been too afraid to go in them alone during the _day_. It’s definitely not where he would have gone to relax.

“How is your new foster placement?”

“Fine, I guess.” Richard rubs the inside of his elbow. “Do you think when this is over they’ll let me go home?”

As Batman, Bruce had asked Gordon if it would be possible for Richard to be placed in Haly’s care. Someone had reached out, but Haly hadn’t been willing. “I’m sorry Richard, but that doesn’t seem very likely.”

Richard looks away, sniffing. “Figures.”

Bruce kneels down, taking Richard’s cast-free hand in his own.

“I just want to go home.”

“Is that where you were going tonight?” Bruce asks.

Richard shakes his head but says nothing.

“Then where?” Bruce presses.

“I . . . I was going to try to find Zucco,” Richard admits, looking anywhere but Bruce. “I was going to take a bus downtown and ask around; say he was my uncle. I thought that even if I couldn’t find him, he would hear that I was looking for him and come after me again. And then, and then you could arrest him.”

“ _Richard_.” Bruce’s heart is pounding in his chest, eyes wide with fear for this child. “You know how unsafe that is.”

“Like you care!” Richard screams— _screams_ —at him, pulling his hand out of Bruce’s grasp and throwing both of them above his head in anger. “My parents have been gone for two months”—Richard’s small fists land across the bat emblem with no regard for his cast and containing more strength than Bruce expected—“and Zucco is still out there! If you’re not going to do anything, then I will!”

The boy is crying—heavy, angry, hurt tears—and for a moment, all Bruce can do is stare at him, barely breathing as he watches the tears and feels the fists pound against his chest. He thinks _this is my fault_ and he wishes that that thought wasn’t as true as it is.

Bruce grabs Richard’s hands, pulling them back down gently. “I’m sorry. This never should have happened to you. And I’m sorry I haven’t been able to find Zucco yet, but I _am_ looking for him.”

Richard isn’t fighting his hold, but he’s still crying, gasping for breath every few seconds. “You promised! You said you would bring him to justice—that’s what you said!”

“I know. And I promise I’m doing everything I can. This case is my top priority.” And that’s the truth—the rest of the truth is that it’s not his only case. There are several other open cases that have needed his attention, the Shadow that he can sense watching them right now being one of them.

Richard’s lip trembles, but he doesn’t say anything, just stares at Bruce with a look of disappointment and doubt.

Bruce swallows, running the case through his head before calmly presenting it to Richard. “I’ve been collecting evidence and sharing what I know with Gordon. Last month, we found one of the men, Garry Peters, who was responsible for putting the acid on the lines. A warrant was put out for his arrest and he confessed. He’s not currently in custody, but he will be tried in court and he’s been fairly cooperative with the police in exchange for protection. He’s refused to confirm that this was Zucco’s plan, but he’s given other names.”

Richard’s breaths are slowing down, and he’s looking at Bruce eagerly. Richard already knows some of this information—Batman had told him personally—but it’s clear from Richard’s reactions that he had not known all of it.

“Peters shared the name of his two partners that night, Emmanuel Hebert and Rachel Clay. Both of them have been arrested. They also received bail, but they’ll be at the hearing. So far, everyone we’ve spoken to has refused to confirm Zucco’s involvement.”

“But _I_ saw him,” Richard insists.

“I know, Richard. But Zucco is being protected, so even with your testimony, it’s difficult.” Bruce hates everything about this case, and having to explain this to Richard makes it that much worse. “But there was a breakthrough about two weeks ago when someone came forward with evidence that Zucco purchased the type of acid used on the lines. This person also provided more proof that the three people who were arrested worked other jobs for Zucco in the past, as well as circumstantial evidence that Zucco hired them for this job. It was enough for Gordon to get a warrant for Zucco’s arrest. That’s why he went after you last week.”

Richard nods, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he absorbs the information.

“He was spotted near where you were kidnapped but he escaped before an arrest could be made. I’ve been trying to track him down, but I’m also trying to collect all of the evidence I can to ensure that when Zucco goes to court, he won’t be able to walk.” _And_ that Zucco’s charges will reflect what truly happened. Zucco had intended to kill the entire Grayson family that night, and Bruce will see to it personally that that is reflected in Zucco’s charges.

“What if you can’t find him?” Richard asks. “What if he leaves the city, or the country?”

“I will find him.” 

“Let me help,” Richard says. “You could use me as bait, that would—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I am not putting your life in danger, and it’s completely unnecessary. Zucco is getting nervous; finding him will be much easier now.”

“Can I come with you?” Richard asks. “I’ll stay in the car, like last time.”

“Not tonight.” Bruce pauses. “Will you let me take you back to the house?”

Richard bites his lip. “Are you going to come back here again?”

Bruce looks at Richard, trying to decipher what his question means. “Yes. If you want, I can visit you every night and give you an update on the case until Zucco is found.”

Richard nods. “Then I’ll go back.”

oOo

Every night for the next week, Bruce keeps his promise and shows up at Richard’s window to give him an update as Batman. He tries to keep it as detailed as he can and answer all of Richard’s questions, but there’s often not much to report. Richard enjoys the conversations though, and he often leads them to discuss things other than the case. By the time Bruce leaves, Richard has done most of the talking. Richard, Bruce supposes, is lonely. 

Bruce feels more comfortable talking to the boy as Batman, and he wonders if that’s because Batman is less of a stranger to Richard than Bruce Wayne is, or if it’s because Batman can help the boy in a way Bruce can’t, meaning that there’s less guilt talking to him as the former. There’s also the fact that Bruce is keeping up something close to his public persona at home, ensuring that Richard doesn’t learn his secret. It’s exhausting and likely adding to his problems, but it’s necessary for now.

Bruce’s comfort and exhaustion doesn’t matter, however. The boy is hurting and lonely, and Bruce needs to make more of an effort to help Richard, not just his case. Richard is his priority, and Bruce needs to start acting like it.

“Ah, Master Bruce,” Alfred says when Bruce exits the car. “I would have called, but I thought it best not to worry you unnecessarily.”

Bruce pushes his cowl back. “What happened?”

Richard steps out from behind the car.

Alfred clears his throat. “I found him in the cave. It appears we have taken in another detective, sir.”

oOo

“I could help,” Richard insists for the millionth time this week. “You could train me and I could be your partner.”

“No.”

“I’m already a professional athlete,” Richard points out. “I’d be really easy to train.”

While true, that’s far from the point. “No. I’m not training a child soldier.”

Richard huffs and rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t be a child soldier; I’d be a hero. Like you.”

Bruce spins his chair to look at Richard for the first time. With a hard glare, he tells him, “No. That’s final.” He spins his chair back around to face his screen once more.

Richard leans against the chair. “Why not? You need someone to watch your back and I’m right here. I could be your lookout, or at least your getaway driver.”

Bruce closes his eyes, exhaling in a slow, controlled matter, pretending he’s calm. “Richard.”

“Just give me a chance,” Richard whines. “I’ll prove that I can be a good partner.”

Bruce stands quickly, sending his chair rolling behind him. Richard takes a step back, but Bruce is too worked up to realize that he’s probably scaring him. He glares down at him, and the boy shrinks under his gaze. “ _No_. This is not up for debate.”

Richard’s face crumples, then turns into a scowl. “You can’t tell me what to do. I bet I could find Zucco faster on my own anyway.”

“You are not to leave this house. Is that clear?”

Richard is silent for a long time. Bruce’s stomach twists, but he can’t give in.

Richard wipes his sleeve across his eyes before dashing back upstairs. Bruce sinks into his chair; he’s clearly not cut out to be anything close to a father.

oOo

A few days later, Batman receives a tip telling him where Zucco is expected to be later that night. Richard has been ignoring him since their fight, and Bruce has been trying his best to give him space.

“Richard?” he calls, knocking on the closed door. There’s no answer. “I have a lead on Zucco. If everything goes as planned, I’ll be taking him in tonight.”

Bruce hears the floors creak, telling him Richard has come closer to the door.

“You can’t come, but if you want, you can sit on the comms with Alfred.”

When there’s no answer after two minutes, Bruce sighs and steps away from the door, wondering how long children can stay mad.

oOo

Bruce has been Batman long enough to be able to look at a criminal and tell how desperate they are. Zucco is incredibly desperate, and when people are that desperate, they do stupid things. Reckless things.

“Put down the gun,” Bruce says firmly, holding back a growl. He quickly ducks as Zucco pulls the trigger, missing Bruce by at least a foot.

“Take me in and that kid will be dead by morning, understand?”

Zucco has a lot to lose by going to prison; there are many who would be happy to see him in a place where they have the upper hand.

“No one else dies.” This time, Bruce doesn’t hold back the growl.

He throws one of his metal discs, taking out Zucco’s gun. The man yells in frustration before taking off, tipping over whatever’s in his path to put something—anything—between himself and The Batman.

Zucco is already at his car and fumbling with the keys by the time Bruce catches up to him. Bruce is fast, but not faster than a car; he raises his hand to call the car just as something swishes past his ear. It lands near Zucco, and he yelps as it makes contact and forces him to drop his keys. Bruce picks up his pace, turning ever so slightly to see who threw the object. He’s expecting to see the Shadow again, but instead he sees a small boy running toward him, dressed in dark green athletic tights, a red leotard, green gloves, and a green mask over his eyes made out of what used to be a beanie.

Despite the attempt at a disguise, Bruce can immediately tell it’s Richard, and for a second, his world freezes over.

But then Richard is passing him, waving and smiling as he goes. He’s chasing after Zucco, who has decided to ditch the car and run toward the pier instead, zig-zagging as he goes.

Bruce presses the button on his belt. “The car will be here shortly,” he hisses at Richard when he catches up to him. “Get inside and stay put until I get back.”

“Make me,” Richard says brightly, speeding up and passing Bruce again. He’s pulling out an object from his pocket, aiming it at Zucco. Bruce recognizes it as his own throwing discs, something the boy must have grabbed from the cave.

He throws it and hits Zucco’s foot, making the man stumble.

Bruce grabs Richard’s left hand, pulling him back. “Car. Now.”

Richard, to Bruce’s surprise, listens. He slows to a stop as Bruce passes him, and Bruce reaches for his restraints as he approaches Zucco.

“You hiring kiddies now, Bats?” Zucco taunts through panting breaths. He’s backed into a corner, and he’s watching Batman with wild eyes. Something glints in the light, and Bruce recognizes it as a knife just before it comes racing toward his shoulder.

Bruce moves swiftly, dodging the blade with practiced ease. Zucco comes at him again, this time going for the restraints. Bruce jumps on top of the railing, careful to maintain his balance as the old wood wobbles under his weight. Zucco kicks at the railing, causing a piece to break off just as Bruce jumps back down to avoid falling over the edge.

He sweeps Zucco’s legs out and is on top of the man as soon as he hits the ground. Zucco swipes at Bruce’s hand with his knife, hitting him for the first time that night and making Bruce lose the restraints as well as a few drops of blood. Bruce disposes of the knife and tries to manually restrain Zucco, but Zucco is throwing punches like his life depends on it and it’s all Bruce can do to block the hits.

“Batman!” Richard yells.

Bruce follows the sound of his voice to see that the boy has found a hiding spot on a nearby roof. He’s pointing in the opposite direction, and Bruce shifts his gaze to see that two men have joined them, both of them armed.

 _No_.

“Shoot!” Zucco yells.

A clink of metal followed by yelling tells Bruce that Richard threw another disc and hit his mark; a gunshot tells him he only hit one gun.

Bruce can’t see for sure, but it doesn’t sound like anyone was hit. The commotion is enough to make Zucco slow down, and Bruce uses that to his advantage and grabs a new pair of restraints from his belt, clapping them on Zucco’s hands. When he has Zucco handcuffed to the pier, he looks for Richard. Bruce sees him climbing down a fire escape, several discs held firmly in his hand like he’s intending to fight the two men by himself.

The men, thank god, are more worried about Batman than the kid and give him their full attention. They’re both holding guns again and they set off another round. Dodging them requires a level of attention and energy Bruce doesn’t quite have, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful that Richard threw another round of discs, taking out one of the guns and hitting the other gunman in the arm, causing him to miss.

Bruce picks up his speed, jumping as he takes out the still-armed man. He kicks the gun away and throws a bolas at the other man before he can reclaim his own weapon. As he’s tying them up, Richard is running toward them, collecting the guns as he goes.

Both men are tied up by the time Richard is standing next to him, breathing a little fast but not nearly close to being out of breath.

Bruce wordlessly presses the button on his belt to call the car for the final time that night.

“We make a good team,” Richard tells him, a brightness in his voice that Bruce hasn’t heard in days.

“Get. In. The. Car.”

oOo

“What happens now?” Richard asks.

The two of them are sitting on a nearby roof, watching as Zucco and his two henchmen are put into separate squad cars.

“They’ll be taken in for questioning. Gordon has assured me that Zucco won’t qualify for bail, but I can’t speak for the other two. There will be a preliminary hearing, hopefully sometime this week, and depending on what happens there, a court date will be set.”

“Why wouldn’t there be a court date?” Richard asks, eyes never leaving the scene below. “You said there’s enough evidence to convict.”

“There is,” Bruce assures. “Zucco might take a plea deal.”

“Oh.”

They sit in a solemn silence until the squad cars pull away, Gordon riding in the car with Zucco. It isn’t until they can no longer see the cars that the two wordlessly move to their own car and go home.

oOo

Bruce sends Richard to bed without a lecture, deciding it can wait until the morning. Right now, Richard is still ecstatic about his adventure, and with Zucco finally in custody, Bruce is in a forgiving mood and doesn’t feel like crushing Richard’s spirit.

By the time he finishes writing up his report, Alfred has gone to bed and he expects Richard to have done the same. When he passes his room, however, he sees that the light is still on.

He taps on the door. “Richard? Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Richard replies quietly.

Bruce opens the door to find Richard sitting on his bed, still wearing his red leotard and green tights. Bruce crosses the room and takes a seat next to Richard on the bed. He doesn’t know what to say, but his instincts tell him that staying is the right thing to do.

“You can call me Dick, if you want,” Richard—Dick—says, looking up at him with the eyes of someone who’s seen far too much for someone so young. “That’s what everyone back home calls me.”

A smile tugs at Bruce’s lips, and he allows it to rest on his face for a moment. “Alright, Dick.”

Dick smiles too, but it lasts even shorter than Bruce’s.

“How do you feel? Bruce asks.

“I’m . . .” Dick stares at his hands, furrowing his eyebrows. He shakes his head, starting again. “I’m glad Zucco’s in custody, and I know you’re probably mad, but I’m glad I was there. It felt good. But I don’t . . . I don’t think _I_ feel any different.”

Bruce pauses, taking in the statement. “What do you mean?”

“I thought it would be better, once we found him, but it’s not.”

 _Oh_. “The grief, you mean.”

Dick nods and mumbles, “It’s stupid.”

“No.” Bruce wraps his arm around Dick’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. “No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

For the longest time, Bruce had thought that if he could just find his parents’ killer, it would fix everything and he would feel normal again. Maybe not completely, but when you’re hurting that badly, something is better than nothing.

“I miss them,” Dick says, a sob finally running through him and shaking his whole body. “It hurts all the time, Bruce. I just want it to stop.”

“I know.” Bruce rocks Dick back and forth, running a hand through his hair. “Shh, I know.”

Dick cries, and Bruce holds him. It’s not much, but it’s something.

oOo

“Good.”

“Oh, come on, B, that was great!” Dick calls from the mats. “Amazing even.”

Bruce smiles; the tumbling sequence had been impressive. “Hnn. Go again.”

“You said we could spar if I stuck it,” Dick protests.

“Afraid you can’t stick it twice in a row?” In reality, Bruce is trying to test Dick’s stamina, trying to figure out where his limit is and how far they can push it.

Dick rolls his eyes but jogs back to his starting place, takes a breath, and then goes again. Bruce watches as he launches himself into the air and contorts his body into a series of flips, landing briefly on his hands before going right back up. Dick lands for a final time, sticking his landing perfectly and breathing heavy. He lowers his arms and looks at Bruce. “Can we spar now?”

Bruce still struggles to understand how casually Dick can execute those skills like they’re nothing. “Water break. Then we’ll spar.”

“Yes!” Dick runs off to grab his water, and Bruce can’t help but chuckle at the enthusiasm.

Today has been a good day, and Bruce finds himself thinking about how the past two months have gone by in a whirlwind, filled with highs and lows.

The Grayson case has been officially closed. The court date has been set and everything looks like it will go in their favor. Despite the success of the case overall, there are still several loose ends that eat at Bruce on nights when he can’t sleep. The biggest being the Shadow, although that problem has seemingly solved itself. Bruce hasn’t felt the presence in weeks, and he hasn’t found a trace of the possible-vigilante anywhere. He hopes that whoever it was simply retired of their own accord, that something worse hadn’t befallen them. Like Haly’s true involvement with Gotham’s gangs, however, Bruce has been forced to accept that it's a mystery he’ll never truly solve.

More important than the case, Dick has been doing much better. He’s opened up to both Alfred and Bruce now, and he feels comfortable coming to them when he’s struggling. Even better, the night terrors have become less frequent, as have the regular nightmares.

Just as Alfred had predicted, Dick has been good for Bruce, too. He provides a light that Bruce so desperately needed, and he’s made the manor feel like a home again. Bruce is realizing it’s something he doesn’t want to let go of anytime soon. He’s seriously considering making Dick’s custody arrangement permanent, though he’s still unsure how to broach the topic without making everyone uncomfortable. After all, Bruce still doesn’t feel cut out to be a father most days, and Dick has made it clear he doesn’t want a new one.

Another change since Dick first moved in is that they’ve been spending a lot of time in the cave, training Dick both physically and mentally for vigilantism. The boy hadn’t dropped the topic since he helped take down Zucco, and after only a week of pleading, among other tactics, Bruce had given in. He’s still holding out hope that this will turn out to be a phase, a temporary aspiration, but the further they go, the more certain Dick seems.

Bruce isn’t exactly happy about it, but he knows that Dick will do this with or without him. Bruce’s job is to keep the boy as safe as possible. Happy or not, Bruce can’t deny that Dick is _good_ , extraordinarily talented for someone his age. He has the potential to be better than Bruce could ever dream.

A weight slams down against his back as Dick latches onto him. “Prepare to be defeated!” Dick yells into his ear.

Bruce grabs Dick’s forearms, pulling him off his back and onto the mats. Dick jumps up from his back and lands on his feet, falling into one of the stances Bruce taught him.

“Let’s see you try,” Bruce says, eliciting a smile from Dick, who has gained a mischievous glint in his eyes. “On three. One.”

Dick rises on his toes, preparing to charge.

“Two—”

“Three!” Dick shouts, cutting Bruce off as usual and running toward him.

 _Yes_ , Bruce thinks as Dick dodges Bruce’s defensive maneuver with a flip and a laugh, _today is a good day_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! If you're feeling up to it, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [tumblr](https://daringyounggrayson.tumblr.com/)


End file.
